Back straight, Reala sat on the edge of his throne and raised his hand, curving it in the air. His eyes slid closed as shadows rose and fluttered into his waiting grasp, twisting and solidifying into a recognizable shape, a cello. Faintly translucent, he held the instrument as if it was solid and adjusted it in his lap as his other hand extended, a bow appearing from the same source. Slowly, he brought the bow to the strings as his fingers pressed the strings for the first note, and the bow slid forward. He began to play.
The low tones of the song filled the otherwise empty room, causing the air to tremble. They barely echoed out into his hall, never mind much past his domain. A smile touched his lips as the tempo began to pick up. The world dissolved around him. He so rarely indulged his musical impulses and did so even less frequently for an audience, but every once in a while, he allowed himself forget about duty, forget about responsibility, forget about the infinite list of things that needed him. All that could wait a few minutes more.
For now, all that mattered was coaxing a sweet song from the shadows he held.